A Shoulder to Lean On
by Crossroad Avarice
Summary: In the aftermath, she was there to offer strength, hope, and compassion. Rex/Ahsoka


**Rila:** Because they never really touched on any sort of conversation between Anakin, Ahsoka, the rest of the 501st and Rex in the aftermath of Umbara and Krell. That series of episodes was just..._whoa._ And then for them not to disclose any sort of reaction from those who care for Rex and the rest of the 501st was just...sorely dissatisfying. Or maybe it's because I'm a stickler for emotion. Hm. Could explain why I can't stand the _Twilight_ series. Also, in explanation to Ahsoka's more mature nature in this fic, the whole Umbara arc takes place after the time-skip, yes? So therefore, she's bound to have a heavier outlook on life.

Disclaimer: _Banana Pudding._

Word Count: 2,001

Chapter Description: She did not waver, she did not falter.

* * *

Fear.

Though he hated to admit it, he couldn't avoid the fact that it was that simple emotion that had restricted him from doing what needed to be done - and what had kept him still, watching as someone else shot down Krell.

It had been clear that the Jedi was a psychopath - but he knew that there would be a few Jedi who wouldn't see it that way. There were those that disliked him and his brothers, who viewed them as nothing more than cannon fodder, just a step above actual droids - Krell had been one of them.

He had counted himself lucky before - only hearing of such Jedi in rumors - that he had been stationed under Anakin Skywalker, a Jedi who seemed set on distinguishing between his men. He remembered names, faces - and expressed regret when they lost men in battle.

His Padawan was the same way - but she went above and beyond where Anakin stopped, enjoying the time she spent amongst the men and cultivating them as not just soldiers under her command, but as friends - and it had been an offer that many of them had accepted, including himself.

Both Anakin and Ahsoka were warm and kind to their men, bolstering confidence and reassuring faith - everything that Krell had not been. Krell had been cruel, demanding, harsh - and it made him realize that though he had indeed been lucky to serve under kinder Jedi - not all were like that.

Krell had been, in no uncertain terms, a "monster". Not the sort that hid beneath a child's bed, vanquished by warm words and gentle touch - this monster had been real, and Rex had not been the one to kill him, though he had wanted to.

He had never once before considered it, raising his weapons to a Jedi - again, he had never needed to entertain the thought, even when he didn't agree with Anakin's or Ahsoka's plans - and so, he had hesitated despite his conviction that it was the _right_ thing to do - and in his hesitance, that chance had been stolen away from him.

Dogma had been shaking, clearly as terrified as he - yet he had pulled the trigger, and Krell had fallen. A part of him at the time had noted it as poetic justice - killed by the one clone who had stood to defend him until the last moment - but another, larger part of him said that it wasn't _fair._

He had wanted to be the one to finish Krell, to be the one to assert with finality that he and his men were not droids and that they could think for themselves just as well as any other humanoid - but he hadn't been, and in the time after, had come to terms with it.

It didn't stop the fact that his faith in the Jedi had been severely damaged. Unless spoken to directly by Anakin in the form of an order or a request, Rex had taken to silence around any and all Jedi - Ahsoka included. Some part of him said that it was not fair to her - he had felt her watching him several times, and then the dejected fall of her shoulders and turn of her head when he did not so much as glance in her direction.

Though she was kind, warm, and offered friendship and comfort - she could not speak for all of the Jedi. The fact that there were still Jedi - still more like Krell - out there, abusing his brothers and throwing them away like it was nothing - left a sour taste in his mouth.

Though he had been actively avoiding any sort of contact with Ahsoka outside of battles, she seemed determined to talk to him one way or another. And if there was one thing that Ahsoka shared wholeheartedly with her Master, it was her tenacity and refusal to give up once she had set her sights on something.

And so, he was not surprised when she found him in the mess hall, seating herself directly across from him. She didn't speak immediately, but when she did, her tone was flat and without any sort of inflection to how she felt. "You've been avoiding me."

It would have been childish to deny it - but it was childish to do so in the first place. Still, he answered honestly, gaze still locked upon the remnants of food on his plate instead of her. "I have."

"I'd ask why, but I know."

"Then why are you here?" His attention shifted to the fork in his hand. He would not look at her - he did not want to see pity in her gaze. He did not need pity. What he needed was for her to go away - he did not want to see her, did not want to talk to her. Not here, not now.

"Because I want to talk."

"So talk." He knew that he was being brusque with her, and that he had never treated her in such a way before - but his pride was still smarting from the events of Umbara - and the last thing he needed was for her to try and _sympathize_ with him.

She was forbidden to form attachements - and so was he, to a certain degree, but it was impossible to look upon those who shared the same face as him - but with so very different personalities - without forming some sort of bond. They were his men, his _brothers_ -

And he had lost many of them. All because of a psychotic Jedi.

"I wanted to talk _to_ you. Not _at_ you." He had thought she'd be angry at this point - but her tone remained patient, calm. It was behavior more suited towards General Kenobi, not Ahsoka. He frowned, but did not lift his gaze.

"With all due respect," he began, "I'm not in much of a talking mood."

Again, he expected her to plead with him, to make it an order - but instead he heard movement, and then a simple, "Alright. I'll be in my room when you're ready to talk."

It was a _when._ Not an _if._

He finally looked up, catching her retreating back as she slipped through the mess hall doors. He sighed.

He was not certain what had compelled him to make his way to her room, or what kept him from turning and leaving. It was not that he had never been down here before - he had, when she left her comlink off and was needed. He stood there for a handful of moments, helmet tucked under his arm before he reached up and knocked.

"Come in," came the reply, and the door slid open. She was laying on her stomach on her bed, a holonovel propped up on her pillow. She turned when he stepped in, and while she did not smile at him as brightly as she had done before - it was somewhere close, an upward curve of her lips that had him wanting to return it. He didn't allow it to form, mouth still a flat line.

"You wanted to talk."

"Yes," she answered, and paused, eyeing him. "Well don't just stand there. Come sit down." It was not an order, but an invitation. He stepped closer, but did not take a seat beside her despite her hand patting the open space. Instead, he took to observing the inside of her room. It was not the room of an average girl her age, no colorful posters or pictures of laughing friends. There were no clothes strewn about, everything had its place - it was the room of a warrior, not a teenage girl.

Her lightsabre and shoto lay ontop of a squat table, her belt that she usually clipped them on beside it. It was the closest, he supposed, that she could come to 'relaxing' without being unprepared if battle were to errupt. "So. What happened?"

It was a question that he knew she was going to ask, but he still wasn't ready for it - he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before answering in a forced-calm, "You read the report. You know what happened."

"I do," she admitted, "but I want to hear it from _you._ You were there."

It was not meant to hurt him, to force him to relive that utter nightmare - but a plea for him to help her understand, so that maybe, just maybe, she could help. And though he had refused it earlier through avoiding her, keeping her at arm's length - he found himself wanting her help more than ever as he finally sank down onto the bed, bucket sitting beside him. "...I don't know where to start."

"From wherever makes you feel more comfortable," she responded, and when he glanced over, her eyes met his with a heaviness that had not been there before. It reminded him that she too had experienced hardships delt by the war, and he exhaled before opening his mouth. It was going to be painful, he knew it was - but he began speaking anyway.

The words were hesitant at first, cautious - but when she made no move to interupt him, to correct or try and persuade him to another view point - he continued on, the words growing stronger, along with the emotion behind it. By the time he finished, he was shaking - just as he had been on Umbara when faced with Krell, who had taunted him with his inability to fire the shot needed. "I should have been the one to do it. I told myself I would be the one to do it. But I didn't."

"You were frightened," Ahsoka began when he lapsed into silence, "and that's understandable, considering what happened. I..." He almost thought she was about to say 'I'm sorry', but she didn't. "...I wish I could say 'I'm sorry', but I can't. Because that won't excuse what Krell did to you, Rex." Her eyes flicked up to gauge his reaction before she continued, "I _am_ sorry that I couldn't be there."

"I'm not sure what you could have done, Ahsoka."

"That doesn't change the fact that I wish I could have been there," she countered, "I can't imagine what you went through, or what you're still going through. And I know you didn't want to talk to me, but I wanted to show you that I - we, my Master and I - care. We do, Rex. I'm not sure whatelse there is that I can do to convince you." Her gaze fell to the blanket beneath her, her mouth twisting downward.

It was then that Rex felt almost stupid for avoiding her earlier - especially when she was offering such kindness and compassion. She didn't tell him sugar-coated lies, no words to pacify him - she was honest, letting him speak before she tried her best to comfort. He shifted, placing a hand on one of hers. She glanced up, and his mouth curved into a faint smile, one that she returned.

"Thank-you, Ahsoka."

"Any time, Rex."


End file.
